“I figured since you’ll be taking Brigitte to Miami that weekend, I could take Mila somewhere special.” We’ve had this conversation too many times. He knows how I feel about her being alone with him. His feelings for her have shifted over the past few years, and since she’s turned nineteen, I’ve seen the way she looks at him.
“Is that a good idea? Being alone with her?” Grabbing my phone and wallet, I push off the chair and stalk around the desk but don’t meet his stare. My phone rings and I ignore him and swipe my finger over the screen. “Hello, Princess,” I murmur, even though I know he can hear me.
“Dad, I’m done. So, whenever you’re ready, I’ll wait at entrance four.” Her tone is chirpy like she’s up to no good, which I can only imagine is the tattoo Grayson mentioned earlier. “Oh, and say hello to Uncle Grayson.” She giggles before hanging up.
“Look, I know what you’re thinking, but I’m responsible. She will be safe with me, and we have fun.” He chuckles, but I pin him with an angry glare.
“Don’t be an asshole. You think I don’t notice the flirting between you two?” He doesn’t respond, only laughs, but the twinkle in his eyes tells me all I need to know. “I need to go.”
“Tell her Uncle Grayson says he’s bringing her some treats this weekend,” the gruff tone of my brother calls after me as I head out the door. I don’t respond; he’s acting like a pompous ass, as usual.
Slipping into the plush leather seat of my Benz, I turn on Mila’s favorite playlist on the iPod and head toward the mall. I know she’s gotten a tattoo, and if I have to be honest, I can’t fault her for it. She’s an adult, and even if I denied her getting one, she’d do it anyway.
Since her mother died three years ago, I’ve wanted her to move in with her aunt, her mother’s sister, but she refused. Saying she’d rather spend time in the home where her mother was last. It made her feel closer to the woman she lost. I wanted her away from Grayson, but if she’s adamant he’s the one for her, I’ll support them, just as long as my brother turns his life around.
Even though there were times she frustrated me with her rebelliousness, she’s never been a disruptive teen. As a child, she preferred sitting in her bedroom reading or working on her art projects. She now has two months before she heads off to college, and I’m afraid. I’ll never admit it, but I’d prefer if she stayed in the city, went to study at a local school rather than head off to New York or someplace where I can’t see her every day.
Pulling up to the mall, I find entrance four easily. Before the car comes to a stop, Mila comes bounding toward the car with the biggest grin on her face. She pulls the door open, and I see her wince. “Hello, Dad.” She leans in, and her candy floss scent hits me immediately. Planting a chaste kiss on my cheek, she sits back to regard me. “How’s Uncle Grayson?”
“Fine.” I can’t help feeling a twinge of wariness at their connection. I’m not scared of her loving him. I just want him to make a choice. If it is Mila he wants, it should only be her he’s with. They’re not related by blood, and I don’t know how to handle seeing them together. Because deep down, I know Grayson cares for her. More than I’d like to admit.
“Just fine? How was the meeting?” She’s always been interested in our work, and I have a feeling she’ll major in advertising, which makes me proud I’ve had such a profound effect on her.
“It went well. We signed the deal. We’ll be doing all their marketing and rebranding,” I tell her proudly as we head home. The song changes and she squeals in delight at the band on the radio.
“That’s great. I wish I could work for you,” she murmurs, and I cut a quick glance at her. She pouts playfully, and I can’t help chuckling. I’d like that too, and I’m sure my brother wouldn’t mind at all.
“You can if you’d like to, of course?” I hint, and her gaze darts to mine.
She blushes shyly, her voice lower when she responds, “I do, but I’ll need to finish school first.”
I nod in agreement. Broaching the subject, I answer cautiously, “Then why not stay in Seattle to study?” We’ve spoken about this when she was sixteen, and even when she’d turned seventeen, but she’s always refused.
She’s quiet for a long while, and I feel as if I fucked it up.
I pull into our driveway and park the car. Once the engine is turned off, I turn to face her fully. “Mila, I didn’t mean to—”
“Yes.” Her deep green pools regard me. A smile lights up her face. “I’d like to stay here, in Seattle I mean, and with you.” Her voice drops on those last two words, and I tip my head to the side.
“You do?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She turns and once again, I see the wince.
“Are you okay, Princess? You look like you’re in pain?” I question calmly, knowing exactly why. I wonder if she’ll tell me about the goddamn tattoo Grayson told me about.
“I’ll show you inside. Let’s go, I’m hungry,” Mila says quietly. Without waiting for me, she pushes her door open and leaves me in the car staring after her. Exiting the Benz, I lock it and follow my princess up to the house. When I enter, she’s in the kitchen leaning against the island drinking a glass of juice.
“So,” I prompt, stalking toward her, keeping my eyes trained on her. “Am I going to see how you mutilated your body?” Her eyes widen in shock, and her mouth drops open, and then closes again. “I’m not stupid, Mila, and I wasn’t born yesterday. Let’s see.” I gesture with my chin.
I have tattoos, and a piercing which was a drunken mistake; however, after I got it done, my girlfriend didn’t complain, so I kept it. Even Mila’s mother enjoyed the sensation.
Watching my little girl unbutton her shorts has me wondering just what the hell she did. My heart hammers against my rib cage painfully, and I have to stifle a groan when she shoves her shorts down just below her panty line. There, between her hip bones, is the word sweetheart.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
“You got a fucking tattoo, Mila?” I growl. Her head snaps up so fast, and her brows furrow in confusion at my outburst. Fuck. Even I’m confused at my outburst. But I realize it’s not that she got it, it’s that she must have had to drop her pants for a stranger. I hope to god it was a woman who did the ink on her body.
“I thought you—”
“Tell me it was a woman who did it?” Scrubbing my hands over my scruffy jaw, I try to calm myself down, but the image of my daughter lying on a table while some fucker touched her drives me fucking crazy.
“God, what the fuck is wrong with you?” she suddenly bursts out. Through the haze of anger, I glance up and find her glaring at me.
“What did you just say to me?” My voice is controlled, low and gravelly, and from the expression on my face, she must know I’m livid.
“Nothing . . .,” she pouts, but this time I’m not falling for her little girl act. If she wants to be an adult, she better start acting like one. So many times over the past year, I’ve looked at her and seen not my little girl, but a woman. An adult. Someone who challenges me. When I was married to Louisa, I didn’t look at another woman, let alone entertain the thought of growing old with anyone but her. When she died, my world collapsed around me. It was Mila who dragged me from the dark to the light. Her light.